


Apodyopsis

by paperfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I return from my month-long hiatus from this site to give you smut, M/M, Masturbation, SMUUUUT, Shower Sex, Smut, UST, Voyeurism, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/pseuds/paperfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's always watching him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apodyopsis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msbrokenbrightside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbrokenbrightside/gifts).



> Warnings: voyeurism and masturbation. Lucifer being something of a creep, and Sam loving every second of it. For a prompt fill. Prompts still open guys, if you're lucky and I like yours enough it might even end up becoming my entry for the Big Bang (which is me saying: help).

He’s always watching him.

Sam can feel Lucifer’s gaze even when he’s not physically present. Ice blue and intense. Sometimes it’s  like the light  buzz of static raising the hair on his arms. Other times (and more and more frequent of late) , it’s almost a physical weight. Relentlessly penetrating and _heavy_ in the way only Lucifer could be.

It makes Sam feel raw and exposed. Vulnerable and breakable. All of that terrifying focus bent towards him, weighing down his shoulders and putting him on guard. For what, he’s not sure.

He feels him the most often during hunts. Just because the Apocalypse had been averted doesn’t mean the world had run out of evil to decapitate. Covered in gore, Sam hacks and shoots at every monster that ever drew the wrath of the Winchesters down on its luckless head. Lucifer had never shown himself to them, but Sam can sense him all the same. That strange, powerful presence watching his every move. Sam always wonders whether he’s there to protect him or watch him be torn apart.

Outside of hunts, he appears to him during odd moments. Sam sometimes spots a flicker of light blue eyes  in the Impala’s rear-view mirror. During slow evenings spent hustling at dingy bars he often catches a glimpse of dirty blonde hair and pale, blistered skin. And on nights when Sam’s resting his aching body in an anonymous motel bed, he can almost feel a faint touch ghosting down his spine. When he wakes, the stiff soreness of his muscles is always gone.

Sam never mentions it, never says anything about it to anyone. Not to Dean, not to Bobby, not even to Castiel (who he suspects might know more than he lets on, given the almost cautious expression on his face whenever he looks at Sam.) He knows without asking that whatever the deal is between him and Lucifer, this time it’s theirs alone. Neither Dean, the forces of heaven and hell, nor the entire world had any part in it.  

He doesn’t know what to make of it. He should be angry, he should be disgusted and unnerved. But he isn’t. He isn’t and more often than not he catches himself wondering when Lucifer would ever do anything more than _look._

He gets his answer on a warm July night.

He’s in the shower, washing blood off his skin and out of his hair. A vampire had been raiding a town in West Virginia, and he and Dean had spent the better part of the day tracking it down, finally beheading it in the woods behind an old warehouse.  Dean was already passed out asleep with an empty beer bottle beside him when Sam figured he had just enough energy to drag himself to the bathroom.

The hot water sluicing down his back is nothing short of heavenly. Sam sighs in contentment, and  leans heavily against the wall. He closes his eyes, and that’s when he feels it. Feels him.

He doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t shout. Just turns his head slowly, and pushes the hair out of  his eyes. Lucifer is a blurred shape standing in the middle of the bathroom. Expression impassive, gaze impossibly sharp. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands still, almost as if he’s waiting for something.

Sam swallows, mouth gone completely dry. Swallows and tries not to shiver. At the deep chill pervading the bathroom, at the cooling water on his skin. At his own nakedness. All of him laid bare and vulnerable for a single archangel’s hungry, fascinated gaze.

Something hot and dark twists in Sam’s belly at the sight of it, and he has to turn away. Has to force himself to breathe deep and steady, fingers clenching the cracked tile beneath his hands. Water runs down the nape of his neck, his chest, between his legs, raising goosebumps on his heat-flushed skin. He tries to ignore it. Tries to ignore the cold curling against him, Lucifer’s presence, the way those blue eyes watch the shifting tension of his muscles. His hand shakes as he reaches for the bar of soap.  

 Lucifer says nothing, does nothing, only watches  Sam as he soaps himself up. The rich white lather is smooth against his skin, dissolving easily under the warm shower spray. But Sam barely notices it, because even with his back turned he can _feel_ Lucifer. Feel the weight of Lucifer’s gaze as surely as he would his touch, his eyes following the trail of soapsuds sliding down Sam’s body. The water scalding hot, almost like it’s sloughing off the memory of those who had left their mark on his skin. Leaving him a bare, blank canvas for Lucifer’s touch.

He clenches his fists to keep himself from shivering.

After a few minutes of fighting to regain control, Sam looks up.  Lucifer hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, but Sam can see the taut way he holds himself. The way  he refuses to look at anything but Sam. The intensity of it nearly sears him alive, but Sam refuses to flinch back. Refuses to tear his gaze free. The solid weight of his arousal betraying him even as he stares back, defiant even now.

Lucifer’s gaze roves down his body, and Sam can see greed in them, clear and hot. And also something else, something soft and strange. It’s jarring in its unfamiliarity, and it makes Sam hold himself still for several seconds. Breathing ragged and harsh. Lucifer doesn’t look away, doesn’t lower his gaze. And slowly, as if he’s making a decision, perhaps the only decision left for him, Sam reaches down and cups himself with one hand.

 The warmth of his own flesh is almost a shock.  A shudder runs through him as he steadies his grip. His hand slippery with soap as gives himself the first long, slow pull. Eyes on Lucifer the entire time.  

“Sam…” Lucifer’s voice is low and dangerously soft, eyes narrowing at the challenge on Sam’s face. But as Sam continues to touch himself he falls silent.  His shoulders are a  line of tension, longing running through him like a live wire and Sam can see it all. And it hits Sam like a blow to his chest, how much he wants this. His hips thrust against the circle of his fingers and Sam groans as Lucifer digs his nails into his palms, leaving deep red welts that won’t heal. He wants to see Lucifer come undone by his hand, wants to see his cold arrogance shatter and break with the weight of his lust. He wants this. He wants him.

Lucifer’s eyes are dark, the irises almost swallowed up completely by the pupils. His shoulders so tense that he seems made of stone. Stiffening even further as Sam slides his cock through the soap-slick ring of his fingers. Slow and gentle, making sure Lucifer sees him. Making sure he sees everything. Sam’s trembling. Skin flushed, his sweat mixing with the  water pouring down his body. But he doesn’t falter. Up and down, stroking from the root to the tip, squeezing his balls, thumbing his already dripping slit. All the while refusing to drop Lucifer’s gaze. Forcing Lucifer to look at him. Forcing him to watch.  

“Lucifer…” a soft exhale. “ _Lucifer.”_ Deeper this time, bordering on a moan. Lucifer’s mouth is very red and very wet, his hair and clothes damp and clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls in quick staccato beats, and it’s wrong, angels don’t need to breathe, but Sam supposes they aren’t supposed to feel lust either. This is wrong, all of it. But whatever rules had been meant to exist between them have been smashed to pieces long ago, and if Sam’s going to fall, he’s going to make sure he takes Lucifer with him.

Lucifer’s features twist into a taut mask of fury, and Sam knows without a shadow of a doubt that he can hear everything he’s thinking. It makes him smile, dark and dirty as he fucks his fist.  Hard and harder until his knees are shaking too much to support himself and he has to brace his back against the wall. _Lucifer Lucifer Lucifer_ falling from his lips like a trembling litany, punctuated by soft gasps and moans through half-parted lips. Water from the shower head pours down his face like a benediction, a baptism, so close to drowning, and Sam wants nothing more than to close his eyes to his inevitable dissolution.  But Lucifer’s gaze cuts him open like a knife. Brutal and unyielding and broken, breaking, and Sam’s eyes snap shut just as his orgasm takes him too far over the edge, and he falls.

He thinks he hears his name murmured as a shattered whisper, but when his senses return he’s alone. Half-leaning against the shower wall, thighs and hand covered with sticky white come. Freezing water streams down Sam’s body and he inhales slowly before shutting the water off.

 

* * *

 

 

If Dean heard anything the night before, he makes no mention of it (Sam wonders whether Castiel had anything to do with that). But he looks almost relieved when Sam requests for a separate room, and Sam supposes it’s something to be grateful for, even if sheepish guilt flashes through him at the thought of his brother being woken up by his display of debauchery.

He doesn’t sense Lucifer all day. After they check in at their new motel, Dean unceremoniously dumps Sam’s duffel bag at his feet before shutting him out for the night.

Sam showers, brushes his teeth. All the while watchful, wary, waiting. But it isn’t until he sinks down onto the bed that he feels him again. Feels Lucifer and his cold, trembling hands as he maps out the dips and hollows of Sam’s back. Drifting down his spine to his ribs to somewhere lower. Hungry and desperate and powerless to stop himself. The line of his body pressing hard against Sam’s, until Sam gently takes his hand in his, and guides him down. .

“Yes.” Sam breathes against his mouth, and this is all Lucifer needs to surge forward and claim Sam for his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


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